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Articles: Literature | “I bow to thee”
- UK
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Here, I said “I bow to thee” not referring to the God (said several times by Tagore in Gitanjali), but “I bow to thee Tagore”.
Also, I am not that great to say “Hats off to you Tagore”...
Below are my favorite Poems/Songs from “Gitanjali”. (No no, in essence, the whole Gitanjali is fantastic, awesome...Isn’t it!!!)
6
Pluck this little flower and take it, delay not! I fear lest it droop
and drop into the dust. I may not find a place in thy garland, but
honour it with a touch of pain from thy hand and pluck it. I fear
lest the day end before I am aware, and the time of offering go
by. Though its colour be not deep and its smell be faint, use this
flower in thy service and pluck it while there is time.
25
In the night of weariness let me give myself up to sleep without
struggle, resting my trust upon thee.
Let me not force my flagging spirit into a poor preparation for
thy worship.
It is thou who drawest the veil of night upon the tired eyes of the
day to renew its sight in a fresher gladness of awakening.
102
I boasted among men that I had known you. They see your
pictures in all works of mine. They come and ask me, `Who is
he?’ I know not how to answer them. I say, `Indeed, I cannot tell.’
They blame me and they go away in scorn. And you sit there
smiling.
I put my tales of you into lasting songs. The secret gushes out
from my heart. They come and ask me, `Tell me all your
meanings.’ I know not how to answer them. I say, `Ah, who
knows what they mean!’ They smile and go away in utter scorn.
And you sit there smiling.
88
Deity of the ruined temple! The broken strings of Vina sing no
more your praise. The bells in the evening proclaim not your
time of worship. The air is still and silent about you.
In your desolate dwelling comes the vagrant spring breeze. It
brings the tidings of flowers---the flowers that for your worship
are offered no more.
Your worshipper of old wanders ever longing for favour still
refused. In the eventide, when fires and shadows mingle with the
gloom of dust, he wearily comes back to the ruined temple with
hunger in his heart.
Many a festival day comes to you in silence, deity of the ruined
temple. Many a night of worship goes away with lamp unlit.
Many new images are built by masters of cunning art and carried
to the holy stream of oblivion when their time is come.
Only the deity of the ruined temple remains unworshipped in
deathless neglect.
35
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by
narrow domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening
thought and action---
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
38
That I want thee, only thee---let my heart repeat without end. All
desires that distract me, day and night, are false and empty to
the core.
As the night keeps hidden in its gloom the petition for light, even
thus in the depth of my unconsciousness rings the cry---`I want
thee, only thee’.
As the storm still seeks its end in peace when it strikes against
peace with all its might, even thus my rebellion strikes against
thy love and still its cry is---`I want thee, only thee’.
42
Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,
only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of
this our pilgrimage to no country and to no end.
In that shoreless ocean, at thy silently listening smile my songs
would swell in melodies, free as waves, free from all bondage of
words.
Is the time not come yet? Are there works still to do? Lo, the
evening has come down upon the shore and in the fading light
the seabirds come flying to their nests.
Who knows when the chains will be off, and the boat, like the last
glimmer of sunset, vanish into the night?
48
The morning sea of silence broke into ripples of bird songs; and
the flowers were all merry by the roadside; and the wealth of
gold was scattered through the rift of the clouds while we busily
went on our way and paid no heed.
We sang no glad songs nor played; we went not to the village for
barter; we spoke not a word nor smiled; we lingered not on the
way. We quickened our pave more and more as the time sped by.
The sun rose to the mid sky and doves cooed in the shade.
Withered leaves danced and whirled in the hot air of noon. The
shepherd boy drowsed and dreamed in the shadow of the
banyan tree, and I laid myself down by the water and stretched
my tired limbs on the grass.
My companions laughed at me in scorn; they held their heads
high and hurried on; they never looked back nor rested; they
vanished in the distant blue haze. They crossed many meadows
and hills, and passed through strange, far-away countries. All
honour to you, heroic host of the interminable path! Mockery
and reproach pricked me to rise, but found no response in me. I
gave myself up for lost in the depth of a glad humiliation---in the
shadow of a dim delight.
The repose of the sun-embroidered green gloom slowly spread
over my heart. I forgot for what I had travelled, and I
surrendered my mind without struggle to the maze of shadows
and songs.
At last, when I woke from my slumber and opened my eyes, I saw
thee standing by me, flooding my sleep with thy smile. How I had
feared that the path was long and wearisome, and the struggle to
reach thee was hard!
69
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and
day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.
It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth
in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves
of leaves and flowers.
It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and
of death, in ebb and in flow.
I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of
life.
And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood
this moment.
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